Werewolves of London
by wolfgirlmusic
Summary: An unusual character seeks refuge inside 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock soon discovers that she's not quite human.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey kids, Wolf Girl here. This Sherlock fanfic is set to take place sometime after Sherlock's experience with Irene Adler, but before Moriarty starts trying to tear Sherlock apart. Let me know what you think in the reviews, enjoy!_

* * *

Samantha swung her feet lackadaisically over the edge of the rooftop. She was humming Sweet Caroline as she tore the rind off of a navel orange.

She gazed out at the sunset flooding through the city skyline. Amber rays illuminated her blonde hair magnificently. Sam fancied London. She'd traveled many places in her time, but always seemed to find herself here. Maybe it was the culture, or perhaps the night life. What brought her here this time, however, was to visit an old friend. He should be coming home any minute now, so she was waiting on the roof to spot him. She let a slice of the peel float down to the street below.

As she progressed closer to the chorus of the song she was humming, she found herself mumbling the words louder and louder. Finally, she broke out into song - "Sweet Caroline…"

"Bum bum bum!"

She snapped her head back to see a squalid looking man aiming what was unmistakably a tranquilizer gun at her. "Sorry, couldn't help it," he sneered, right before pulling the trigger.

Sam cried as a hefty dart dug itself into her neck. She disciplined herself to flee immediately; distance herself from the attacker as quickly and effectively as possible. Never fight back, they're rarely alone.

Sam winced as the attacker managed to plant another one in her before her descent. She threw her center of gravity forward, slipping down the side of the building. Upon landing, she wrenched the darts out of her neck. They had nasty barbs in them, so it wasn't a pleasant experience. She cast them onto the ground. The holes they left in her skin healed almost instantaneously.

Sam dashed across the street so the man couldn't jump the rooftops. She barreled through people, not wasting the energy to apologize. She could feel herself nodding off. Even though she removed the darts, there were enough sedatives in them to knock out a bull elephant.

She zig-zagged through alleys, hopped some fences, and even took some detours through buildings and shops. Sam knew she was running out of time. Her usually sharp vision was dimming, and her coordination was going fast. After blundering around like an inebriated fool for a bit, she stumbled into a short, blonde man closing the door to his flat. Startled, he supported her collapsing body weight. She moaned. "Whatever… you do… don't take me to a hospital. They'll kill me. Let me… sleep this… off…" He watched her hazel eyes roll back into her head.

His wide, blue eyes darted around. He concluded that he probably shouldn't be standing in the street with an unconscious woman, he lugged her body back into his flat. "Sherlock!" he called, his voice resounding through the foyer. He squatted down and hoisted the woman up in his arms.

Sherlock could hear his friend clamoring up the stairwell. "Back already, John?" Sherlock had his nose buried in a newspaper. He tilted it down when he noticed John was breathing heavily. Upon seeing his friend hauling an unconscious female up the stairs, his eyes narrowed and he threw the newspaper down.

"Help me get her on the sofa," wheezed John. Sherlock cleared off the stacks of newspapers that were occupying the sofa before gripping her legs. They laid her down, her body flopping over like a rag doll. As John rambled on about how the woman came out of nowhere and passed out on him, Sherlock was running an analysis on her.

"Anyways, she said not to, but I really think we should get her to a hospital," spoke John.

"No," asserted Sherlock. "Something's not right. I need to run some tests." He turned on his heel and took off for the kitchen.

John called out to Sherlock in vain. He sighed and turned to look at the woman with somber eyes. His mind wandered for a bit, but he shook himself into focus, grabbing her wrist to get a pulse. Her skin felt fevered However, her pulse was a steady eighty beats per minute.

Sherlock returned with an assortment of items. He handed a syringe to John. "I need a blood sample."

* * *

Sam groaned out in agony as she came to. Her entire body ached and her head was pounding. Water. Water, that's what she needed. She rubbed her eyes and began to sit up, when she was startled by a smooth, British voice.

"Feeling better, are we?"

She winced over at a man, Sherlock, sitting in a chair only five feet away. Her head was spinning, but she could make out that he was leaning forward, fingers steepled, watching her closely. "Uuhhnngghh… Where am I?" she mumbled, glancing around the flat.

Sherlock sat up straight in his chair and cleared his throat. "The first thing I noticed was that you had blood dripped on your shirt in a pattern synonymous with a neck wound. Upon inspecting your neck, there were no traces of damage. In fact, there are no traces of damage on your body anywhere. No tan lines, no acne scars, no fine lines around the eyes. Your skin is immaculate. The grand daddy of it all, however,"

She knew exactly where this conversation was going.

"No navel." Sherlock's tone was severe. Sam opened her mouth, but Sherlock cut her off. "I had a blood sample drawn from you. When the needle was retracted, the puncture mark vanished completely." She opened her mouth again, but he wouldn't let her speak. "I examined your blood, and, well…" Sherlock was at a loss for words. "It… it's definitely not human."

He glanced around the room, as though making sure no one were around to hear, before he leaned in towards her. "How?"


	2. Chapter 2

The interrogation was sobering. Samantha suffered a vigorous shudder before straightening herself out. She cleared her throat. "Nunya."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Nunya?"

"Nunya business," she scorned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "An American…" He watched her rise from the sofa and stumble a bit. "What do you think you're doing?"

Sam crossed her arms above her head and stretched. "I'm blowing this peanut stand. Thanks for letting me crash here, but he knows I'm in London, so I gotta get out of town."

She took a few steps towards the door, but Sherlock implored "Who knows you're in London?"

Sam gave Sherlock a grimace. She answered him with a childish, mocking voice and twiddled her fingers for effect - "Moriarty." Sherlock went pale as though he had seen a ghost. She turned to leave, but Sherlock grabbed her arm roughly. "Hey!" she yelped. "Precious cargo!"

"How do you know about Moriarty?" His voice was inflicted with concern.

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "How do _you_ know about Moriarty?"

The pair locked narrowed eyes. Sherlock motioned for her to sit back down. She contemplated leaving, but knew that anyone who knew of Moriarty and looked that scared was probably not in a good position. She heaved a heavy sigh and returned to the sofa.

They continued to gawk at each other for a few more moments, waiting for the other to speak up. Sherlock cleared his throat. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a consulting detective."

Sam leaned back into the sofa. "I've heard of you," she said, beguiled.

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched. "I recently had a run-in with him, which was less than pleasant. I was advised to discontinue my meddling with his work, or…" His mind flashed back to Moriarty's words. He found himself adrift in an emotion, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Or else?" Sam completed his sentence. "Yeah, well it looks like you and I have opposite problems. He wants you to stay away, and he wants me to come to him. Wanna switch?"

Sherlock exhaled loudly. "Now that you know what my involvement with Moriarty is, please share yours."

Sam shifted forward. She grated her teeth, pondering why she was still here. She should be on the next train to somewhere in Western Europe. However, there was something about this man, some need to help him. The thought mulled around in her mind that perhaps, if they worked together, they might be able to wipe out the scourge that is Jim Moriarty.

After careful thought and consideration, she figured it was worth a shot. "I'm a werewolf," she announced, matter-of-factly.

Sherlock stared blankly. "You're a what?"

"A werewolf, Mr. Holmes. You've examined my blood yourself!" She sighed and bent forward, pushing her messy blonde hair back with her nervous hands. She looked up at him. "Please don't make me transform in your living room."

John Watson entered the foyer only to be barreled over by Sherlock. Sherlock did not say anything, just panted in fear as he bolted outside. John straightened himself out, flustered by the situation. He fixed his jacket and peered up the stairs. Was it safe to go up there? What could have possibly sent Sherlock running like that?

John cautiously crept up the stairs, clutching his keys in his sweaty hand. He peered into the empty living room, noticing that one of the windows was left wide open.

Samantha sprinted through the city, coming to a halt about two miles East of Baker Street. She ascended a building and positioned herself where no one would see her. She threw her head back and cried a bone-chilling howl, which managed to send a flock of pigeons flying.

If anyone was looking for her, that would have definitely caught their attention. She had to act quickly. Sam skidded down a fire escape, landing in an alleyway. She slinked through a maze of lowly alleys until she returned to her original point of interest. She utilized her remarkable senses to scan the area for non-friendlies before scuttling into the apartment building.

Closing the door behind her, she became flooded with memories. The familiar seafoam green walls were becoming grimy with age. The tile flooring had a few knicks in it. Sam steadied herself as she approached the third door down the hall. She lifted a shaky hand to rap a few times.

She could acutely hear shuffling around. A lock clicked, and the door opened as far as the chain would allow, revealing a man's face.

Samantha drew in a breath. "I'm here to see my daughter."


End file.
